83
Third Person Pov
It was a weekend.
The house was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that settled into the walls instead of pressing down on the ears. Taehyung sat at the kitchen counter with the doctor’s note spread open beside him, reading the instructions for the third time even though he already knew them by heart.
Soft foods now. Mashed. Small portions. Observe her reactions.
He nodded to himself, as if the paper could see him.
Gyuri’s baby formula was already warm, resting safely on the counter.
He peeled the potatoes carefully, boiled them until they were soft enough to fall apart under the fork, and mashed them slowly in a small bowl.
He added nothing fancy, just a little warm water, exactly how the doctor had said. Simple. Safe. Gentle.
His hands moved on autopilot.
His mind didn’t.
Last night crept in without permission.
The rain. The porch.
Jungkook’s voice.... raw, stripped of armor. Please be my family.
Taehyung’s cheeks heated as he pressed the fork into the potatoes harder than necessary. His chest tightened, remembering the way Jungkook had looked at him....not commanding, not cold, but desperate in a way that still felt unreal.
The confession. The kiss that wasn’t punishment. The way Jungkook had been willing to wait.
He exhaled shakily and forced himself to slow down.
When he’d first met Jungkook, the man wouldn’t even look at him. Wouldn’t even say his name. Jungkook had been sharp edges and clipped words, a man who existed behind glass walls and iron rules. Taehyung had learned early not to expect warmth from him—only orders, insults, distance.
And now? Now that same man stood in the rain, asking for permission to love him.
Taehyung leaned against the counter, fingers tightening around the bowl.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love Jungkook. That was the cruel part—it wasn’t confusion, or doubt, or hesitation born from lack of feeling.
It was because he loved him.
Too much. Too intensely.
Taehyung had never had a partner before Jungkook.
Never had someone choose him without Clauses.
Never had love offered without him having to earn it through sacrifice, silence, or endurance.
His entire life had been responsibility after responsibility.
... be strong, be quiet, be dependable, be everything except needy.
And now love had come crashing in like a flood.
A thirsty person always ends up throwing up if they drink too much too fast.
He had been thirsty his whole life.
So when Jungkook reached for him with both hands, when love came with force and fire and promises of always—it didn’t feel dangerous because Jungkook was unsafe.
It felt dangerous because Taehyung didn’t know how to hold it.
He knew himself well enough to understand this:
if he rushed, if he drowned himself in it, he’d end up choking.
That was why he needed time.
Not because he doubted Jungkook.
Not because he didn’t want him.
But because Taehyung needed to learn how to receive love without breaking under it.
He glanced toward the baby formula warming on the counter, then toward the small bowl of mashed potatoes, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
One step at a time.
That was how he’d always survived.
And if Jungkook truly meant what he said,, if his patience was as strong as his promises—then waiting wouldn’t weaken what they had.
It would only make it real.
Taehyung picked up the bowl, steadying his breath. For now, this was enough.
Taehyung moved closer to the mat where Gyuri was happily babbling to herself, her tiny hands slapping the soft surface like she was having a very serious conversation with the air.
Beside her, Gyubin sat cross-legged, tongue peeking out slightly as he concentrated on coloring neatly inside the lines.
“Appa,” Gyubin said suddenly, not looking up, “I’ll go to Jiwoo’s house in the evening.”
Taehyung paused mid-step and glanced down at him, catching the faint pink creeping up the boy’s ears. A smile tugged at his lips.
“Jiwoo?” he echoed lightly, dragging the name just enough to tease.
Gyubin hummed, shoulders lifting, the corner of his mouth betraying him with a shy smile as he continued coloring. Taehyung sat down on the floor beside them.
“Aren’t you hanging out a little too much with him these days, hmm, Binnie?” Taehyung asked, nudging him gently with his knee.
Gyubin finally looked up, brows knitting together. “Appa,” he whined, clearly offended, “he’s my best friend.”
Taehyung laughed softly, shaking his head. “Okay, okay. I’m not complaining.” His voice softened. “Just make sure you’re back before it gets dark.”
Gyubin nodded, satisfied, and returned to his coloring with renewed focus.
Taehyung placed the small bowl and baby formula beside him and reached for Gyuri, lifting her carefully and settling her on his lap. She immediately cooed, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, her big doe eyes blinking up at him.
“Alright, princess,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over her hair. “Let’s see what you think of this.”
From the corner of the room, Daisy the kitten sat like a tiny statue, tail flicking slowly as she watched the scene with an expression that looked suspiciously judgmental.
Taehyung scooped a little mashed potato with the spoon and held it out. Gyuri stared at it like it had personally offended her. She leaned forward, sniffed the air, then looked back at Taehyung as if asking whether this was a good idea.
“Yes, you can trust Appa,” he whispered encouragingly.
Slowly, cautiously, she opened her mouth.
The moment the food touched her gums, her face scrunched up adorably, nose wrinkling, eyes widening in pure confusion.
“Oh?” Taehyung chuckled. “That bad, huh?”
A bit of drool slipped out, and he quickly wiped it with a tissue, still smiling. To his surprise, Gyuri opened her mouth again, demanding another spoonful.
“There you go,” he praised softly. “Such a brave girl.”
She smacked her lips, clearly warming up to the taste, and within minutes she was eating eagerly, little hands waving excitedly every time the spoon came near. Taehyung kept talking to her the whole time, his voice gentle and playful, as if every word was part of the meal.
“That’s it… chew with your gums… yes…”
Soon, the bowl was empty.
“Good girl,” he said fondly, patting her soft cheeks. Gyuri giggled, arms flailing as if she’d just won something very important.
Taehyung then held her up carefully, gripping her tiny hands and helping her stand on her unsteady feet. She wobbled immediately, legs trembling.
“Easy, easy,” he laughed. “My koala… my buttercup…”
Gyuri squealed, clearly enjoying the attention, while Taehyung gently bounced her, keeping her balanced. Gyubin watched the whole thing with a wide grin, his coloring momentarily forgotten.
Taehyung stood up slowly, holding Gyuri’s tiny hands as he guided her forward. She squeaked loudly, legs wobbling.
“Riri,” Gyubin chirped, rushing to Taehyung’s side and gesturing dramatically. “Come on—one more step.”
Gyuri took hesitant little steps, fingers wrapped tightly around Taehyung’s, her balance shaky but determined.
Taehyung grinned, eyes softening, chest warming at the sight. His face glowed with a quiet kind of happiness—the kind that came from small victories, from tiny hands, from giggles echoing inside the house.
Happiness from his kids.
And from the man he loved.... who stood outside on the porch across the street, cigarette between his fingers, waiting like he always did. Jungkook didn’t rush. He never did.
He leaned against the wall, dragging smoke into his lungs, eyes scanning the surroundings out of habit, instinct sharp even in stillness.
That’s when he felt it.
A stare.
Jungkook’s gaze shifted casually.... too casually—to the side.
Kang Mina.
She was standing near the boundary wall of the neighboring house, openly staring this time. Not hiding. Not pretending. Her eyes were glued to him, curiosity mixed with something far uglier.
Jungkook raised a brow.
Just one.
And that was enough.
Mina startled, breath hitching, quickly ducking behind the wall.
“Fuck, I'm gonna die today.” she whispered, palm pressing to her chest, heartbeat racing.
She waited a second. Two.
Then, against her better judgment, she leaned out again—
And nearly screamed.
Jungkook was standing right there, impossibly close, as if he’d appeared out of thin air. Cigarette still burning between his fingers. Expression calm. Dead calm.
“I— I wasn’t—” Mina stumbled backward, voice shaking. “I wasn’t staring at you, Mr...!”
Jungkook hummed softly.
“That’s interesting,” he said mildly, tapping ash off his cigarette. “Because you’ve been staring at me for exactly fifty-three seconds.”
Her face drained of color.
He tilted his head. “Fifty-four, actually. You blinked once.”
Mina swallowed hard.
Jungkook stepped just a little closer—invading her space without touching her.
“You should work on subtlety,” he continued lazily. “It’s embarrassing… especially when you’re this bad at it.”
“I—I just—” she tried.
Her lips trembled.
“Save your curiosity for harmless things. People who won’t notice you back,” Jungkook said calmly.
“Because I always notice.”
A pause. Just long enough to let it sink in.
“And when I do,” he continued, voice even, almost bored, “I make sure the person learns exactly why that was a mistake.”
The air turned heavy. Mina’s throat went dry.
Mina’s fingers curled involuntarily, a shiver running straight down her spine.
“I—I was leaving,” she managed, voice barely there.
Jungkook didn’t answer, just stared coldly like he was holding himself back. A lot.
That was all it took.
Mina turned and walked away quickly, heart hammering, the chill clinging to her skin long after she’d gone—knowing, with terrifying clarity, that the CEO wasn’t dangerous because he was loud or cruel.
He was dangerous because he was certain. And he wasn't meant to be loved.
He was mean't to be avoided.
Jungkook exhaled slowly, smoke slipping past his lips as he took one last drag.
If this had been his mansion... if he were standing in his world, under his rules—she wouldn’t have walked away breathing. But this wasn’t that place. This was Taehyung’s neighborhood. Quiet. Ordinary.
So he restrained himself.
Barely.
He turned toward his house and stilled.
He saw Taehyung stepping out of his house.
Not rushing. Not calling out. Just standing there, eyes fixed on Jungkook’s gate like he was waiting without admitting he was waiting.
Jungkook’s lips curved, slow and knowing.
He reached into his pocket as he walked, movements unhurried. The iron gate creaked softly as he slipped inside Taehyung’s porch. Taehyung still hadn’t noticed. Too lost in his own thoughts.
Jungkook stopped right behind him.
Close enough to feel warmth.
Close enough to be dangerous.
Taehyung didn’t notice.
Not until Jungkook leaned in just enough to tuck something behind his ear.
Taehyung startled. “—Ah!”
He turned sharply, eyes wide.
Jungkook was already crushing the cigarette under his heel, hands sliding back into his pockets like he hadn’t just invaded Taehyung’s space. Like he hadn’t just left something soft and intimate behind.
Taehyung’s fingers flew to his ear. He froze when he saw the flower.
A peony.
His cheeks burned instantly.
“Y–you,” he squeaked, voice betraying him.
Jungkook tilted his head slightly, eyes dark, but amused. “You were staring at my house,” he said calmly. “I assumed you were expecting me.”
Taehyung swallowed, gaze dropping to the ground. “I–I wasn’t—”
“Lying doesn’t suit you,” Jungkook interrupted gently, stepping closer.
One step.
Taehyung took one back.
“I—I said stop,” Taehyung murmured, hands coming up to Jungkook’s chest, palms resting there more hesitantly than firmly.
Jungkook looked down at them.
Then back at Taehyung.
A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he stepped back not because he had to, but because he chose to.
“Relax,” he said quietly. “If I wanted to cross the line, you wouldn’t have time to ask me to stop.”
Taehyung’s breath hitched.
Jungkook leaned in just enough for his voice to drop, low and controlled. “I came to see you. Not to corner you.”
“Then why do you always stand so close?” Taehyung asked, frustration slipping into his tone.
Jungkook’s eyes softened by a fraction.
“Because distance is a lie between us,” he said simply. “And you know it too.”
Taehyung’s fingers clenched in his shirt unconsciously.
Jungkook noticed.
His voice dipped even lower. “If you don’t want me here,” he said, “say it. I’ll leave.”
Taehyung looked up at him.... eyes conflicted, lips parted, heartbeat loud in his ears.
He didn’t say it.
Jungkook smiled... not smug. Not teasing.
Satisfied.
“Thought so,” he murmured.
Jungkook stepped closer, lifting his hand just enough to brush Taehyung’s knuckles with his thumb—barely there, almost accidental.
“Keep the flower,” he said. “It suits you.”
Then he straightened, stepping back, leaving Taehyung standing there... breathless, flustered, and holding proof that Jungkook Jeon never did anything without intention.
Taehyung stood frozen for a second longer than necessary, his eyes following Jungkook without permission, without dignity.
Jungkook had already turned toward his own porch, long strides unhurried, shoulders relaxed like a man who knew exactly what effect he left behind.
Halfway up the steps, he glanced back.
Just once.
It wasn’t obvious. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a lazy tilt of his head, eyes cutting sideways knowingly.
And then came the smirk.
Not wide. Not teasing.
The kind that said I saw that. I felt that. And I’ll let it sit with you.
Taehyung’s stomach flipped so hard it almost made him dizzy.
He immediately looked away, heat crawling up his neck, pulse betraying him. His feet moved on instinct, carrying him back inside his house like the walls could protect him from a man standing twenty feet away.
The door shut a little louder than he meant it to.
He leaned his forehead against it, exhaling sharply.
“Why is he always smirking?” Taehyung muttered to himself, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “He thinks he looks cool.”
A beat.
His lips pressed together.
“…He does look cool.” he corrected under his breath, annoyed, flustered, doomed.
.
.
.
It was evening.
Gyubin had already gone out to play, the house settling into a rare, gentle quiet. Taehyung moved around the kitchen with a kind of nervous purpose, sleeves rolled up as he focused on the stove. This wasn’t just dinner. He knew that. His heart had been beating funny ever since the afternoon.
He imagined Jungkook—alone in the house, probably surviving on half-burnt eggs or instant food again, pretending he didn’t care. The thought tugged at something soft inside Taehyung.
So he cooked.
Carefully. Thoughtfully. Food that carried warmth, not spice. Familiar flavours. The kind that felt like being taken care of without anyone saying the words out loud.
When everything was done, he packed it neatly into containers, fingers hesitating for a second before tying the bag closed. He exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping.
Should I go?
Or should I just… let it be?
His heart answered before his head could argue.
Do it.
After all, Jungkook was here because of him.
Taehyung smiled to himself, shaking off the doubt. He slung the bag over his shoulder and walked to the couch, where Gyuri was sleeping peacefully. He bent down, lifting her carefully. She stirred for half a second before nestling into his chest, tiny hands fisting his shirt like it was instinct.
Taehyung’s smile softened instantly.
“Shh… sleep,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.
Daisy, sprawled nearby like a tiny guard, lifted her head lazily.
“I’ll be back soon,” Taehyung whispered to the kitten. “Behave.”
Daisy flicked her tail, unimpressed but listening.
Taehyung adjusted Gyuri in his arms, locked the door behind him, and stepped onto the porch. The evening air was cool, the sky dusky with fading light. He crossed over, opened Jungkook’s iron gate, and walked up to the door.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he rang the bell.
Inside, Jungkook was on call when the sound echoed through the house. He stilled and hung up, wasn’t expecting anyone. He exhaled and walked to the door unhurried.
When he opened it
Taehyung stood there.
Gyuri asleep against his chest. A bag slung over his shoulder. Eyes slightly unsure, but determined.
Jungkook didn’t speak.
For a second, neither did Taehyung.
“I—” Taehyung cleared his throat softly. “You… you didn’t eat properly today. Probably.”
Jungkook’s gaze dropped to Gyuri, his expression softened. His jaw loosened. His shoulders relaxed without him noticing.
“I made dinner,” Taehyung continued quietly. “You don’t have to eat it now. Or at all. I just thought—”
He stopped himself, then added more firmly, “—I wanted to.”
Jungkook stepped aside without a word.
That was permission enough.
Taehyung walked in, careful not to wake Gyuri. The house smelled faintly of smoke and coffee...m very Jungkook. He set the food on the table, movements gentle, domestic in a way that felt surreal for both of them.
Jungkook closed the door behind them.
“You didn’t have to,” he said finally. His voice was steady, but softer than usual.
“I know,” Taehyung replied. “but I wanted to."
Jungkook watched him for a long moment. stood there silently as Taehyung adjusted Gyuri in his arms, completely unaware of how deeply he was undoing Jungkook.
“You should sit,” Jungkook said after a beat. “I’ll— I’ll take her.”
Taehyung hesitated, then slowly handed Gyuri over.
Jungkook froze for half a second when her weight settled into his arms. She shifted, cheek pressing against his chest, and went right back to sleep.
Something in Jungkook’s chest softened.
Taehyung watched him closely, eyes warm.
“She does that,” he whispered. “ when she feels safe.”
Jungkook didn’t answer. He just held her—careful, protective, like she was something fragile and precious.
And for the first time in a long time, the house didn’t feel empty.
Taehyung shifted the bag in his hand, suddenly very aware of how close Jungkook was standing.
“I—I hope you still haven’t had your dinner,” he said softly.
His cheeks warmed under Jungkook’s gaze. It wasn’t sharp or interrogating tonight... just deep, lingering a second too long.
Jungkook stood there with Gyuri cradled against his chest, her tiny body fitting into him like she belonged there. It was an absurdly domestic sight, one that made Taehyung’s throat tighten before he could stop it.
Jungkook shook his head once.
“I haven’t.”
A lie.
He had eaten barely fifteen minutes ago, something quick and forgettable but that didn’t matter. This did.
He pulled a chair back with his foot, nodding toward it.
“Sit.”
The word wasn’t harsh, just firm. Still, Taehyung bit the inside of his cheek as he obeyed, setting the bag carefully on the table before lowering himself onto the chair. His fingers fidgeted in his lap, nerves buzzing beneath his skin.
“I’ll put her down on the couch,” Jungkook said, already turning.
Taehyung nodded, watching quietly.
Jungkook moved with unexpected care. He lowered Gyuri onto the couch slowly, making sure her head was supported before he stepped back.
Then, almost instinctively, he grabbed two cushions, one placing it snugly beside her, the other on the floor near the edge, a silent precaution in case she shifted in her sleep.
He stood there for a moment, just looking at her.
Then, hesitantly, as if unsure whether he was allowed to, Jungkook lifted his hand. His fingers hovered for a brief second before gently brushing over Gyuri’s forehead, feather-light. The touch was cautious, reverent—nothing like the man the world knew.
The corner of his lips curved before he could stop it.
Taehyung saw it all.
Something in his chest softened, warmth spreading in a way that scared him a little. He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to break the moment.
Jungkook seemed to realize himself then. He exhaled quietly, pulling his hand back as though grounding himself. Without another word, he turned and walked back to the dining table, taking the seat across from Taehyung.
The space between them felt different now.
Jungkook served himself quietly, the clink of cutlery sounding louder in the otherwise calm house.
“Aren’t you eating?” he asked, glancing up.
Taehyung shook his head almost immediately. “I had enough snacks,” he said, a little too quickly. “I’m not hungry.”
Jungkook hummed, not pushing it. He scooped rice onto his plate, added the sautéed vegetables, then the meat. The first bite made him pause... just for a fraction of a second but Taehyung caught it.
The taste was familiar. Warm. Balanced. Home.
Taehyung sat across from him, pretending to be casual but watching closely, fingers curled together on his lap. His eyes searched Jungkook’s face like he was waiting for a verdict.
Jungkook took another bite, slower this time.
“It’s good,” he said, voice a little stiff, like praise didn’t come easily to him.
Taehyung’s shoulders relaxed—but his eyes still waited.
Jungkook sighed softly, as if annoyed at himself, then added, quieter, more honest, “Too good.”
That did it.
Taehyung’s face lit up instantly, a wide grin breaking through before he could stop it. “Thank you!” he blurted out, warmth flooding his voice. “I thought you wouldn't like it."
Jungkook looked at him then—really looked at him. At the way such a small sentence had made Taehyung glow. At how easily happiness found him through the simplest things.
“No,” Jungkook said, almost to himself. “I like it."
Taehyung blinked, a little flustered, then looked away shyly, cheeks warming. Jungkook returned to his food, eating in silence, but something in his chest felt heavier—quieter, too.
He hadn’t realized how little it took to make the younger happy.
And how much that realization made him rethink everything.
After eating.
Jungkook leaned back in the chair, arms crossing loosely over his chest, gaze never leaving Taehyung’s face. He looked far too relaxed for someone who’d just cleaned out every container on the table.
Taehyung busied himself stacking the empty boxes, deliberately avoiding eye contact.
“Why is your face red?” Jungkook asked again, slower this time, like he was savoring it.
“It’s not,” Taehyung muttered, rubbing his cheeks harder, which only made it worse.
Jungkook’s lips twitched. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not,” Taehyung snapped, finally looking at him. “Why would I blush?”
Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “Because of me.”
Taehyung scoffed, offended. “You’re too full of yourself. I wouldn’t blush because of you.”
Jungkook raised a brow, unimpressed but amused. “Then who?”
Taehyung opened his mouth—then stopped.
The silence stretched.
Jungkook leaned forward just a little, elbows resting on the table now. “Go on,” he said calmly. “I'm listening.”
Taehyung’s ears burned. “No one,” he mumbled. “It’s just… warm in here.”
Jungkook glanced around the room. “It’s winter.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Taehyung shot back weakly.
Jungkook hummed, clearly unconvinced. His eyes softened, though—less teasing now, more observant. “You get red when you’re nervous,” he said quietly. “Or when you imagine things you wouldn't say out loud.”
Taehyung froze.
Jungkook noticed immediately.
Taehyung swallowed. “Stop psychoanalyzing me.”
“I’m not,” Jungkook replied. “I’m paying attention.”
That did it.
Taehyung looked down, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater. “I just wanted to do something nice,” he said after a beat. “That’s all. You didn’t have to eat everything.”
Jungkook’s mouth curved, genuine this time. “I wanted to.”
Taehyung peeked up at him. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” Jungkook said evenly. “If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t touch it.”
That sounded heavier than food.
Taehyung exhaled shakily. “You don’t have to force yourself to fit into my life,” he murmured. “You can just… exist. I’m not asking for anything.”
Jungkook’s expression shifted.... serious now, grounded. He stood, slowly, closing the distance without crowding him.
“I don’t do things I don’t want to,” Jungkook said.
Taehyung’s heart thudded painfully.
“I’m here,” Jungkook added, quieter. “Not because I owe you. Not because I’m trying to prove something. I’m here because I want to be.”
Taehyung’s throat tightened. “You make it really hard to think straight.”
Jungkook smirked faintly. “Good. Because you're certainly not straight.”
Taehyung huffed despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
Jungkook reached out, just barely brushing his knuckles against Taehyung’s wrist—gentle, unassuming. “And you keep cooking for me anyway.”
Taehyung didn’t pull away.
Outside, the evening settled deeper, quiet and slow, while inside the room, something unspoken but solid sat between them.... warm, heavy, and very much real.
The space between them shrank without either of them meaning it to.
Jungkook stepped closer, slow, deliberate, like he was testing whether Taehyung would run this time. He didn’t. Taehyung’s breath hitched instead, chest rising sharply as Jungkook’s presence swallowed him whole.
Jungkook’s hands came to rest on Taehyung’s waist, firm, possessive, grounding. He didn’t ask. He never did.
Taehyung swallowed, fingers curling into the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt as if that was the only thing keeping him upright.
Neither of them spoke.
Jungkook leaned down, his lips brushing Taehyung’s jaw... once, slow, unhurried. Not a kiss meant to take, but one meant to warn. Taehyung shuddered, breath breaking as his grip tightened, nails digging in like he was afraid Jungkook would disappear if he let go.
Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at him.
The way Taehyung’s lips were parted. The way his eyes were glazed, unfocused. Jungkook’s gaze dropped there, dark, hungry, barely restrained.
He leaned in again...
“TAEHYUNG-AH.”
The voice cut through the room like a blade.
Taehyung flinched violently, reality crashing back in. He stepped away at once, hands flying up as if burned.
“Look at Gyubin!”
Taehyung’s face drained of color.
“What—what happened to Gyubin?” Panic replaced everything else as he turned to Jungkook instinctively, searching his face.
Jungkook was still standing there, chest rising slowly, eyes darker than before—frustration and want burning beneath the surface. He didn’t answer, didn’t move, just stared at Taehyung like he was trying to memorize him in case this was taken away again.
Taehyung tore his gaze away.
“I—I need to see,” he said quickly, voice unsteady. “I have to go.”
He rushed to the couch, lifting Gyuri carefully into his arms. She stirred slightly, nestling into his chest, unaware of the storm she’d just interrupted.
Taehyung didn’t look back as he hurried out, the door closing softly behind him.
Jungkook remained where he was.
Hands still clenched. Breath still heavy. Control hanging by a thread.
And once again... left wanting, but standing.
Outside, the air was thick with chaos.
Eight-year-old Gyubin had ten-year-old Jiwoo pinned against the wall, his small fists clenched into the fabric of Jiwoo’s shirt, knuckles white with force he didn’t even know he possessed.
Jiwoo’s back hit the wall again as he struggled, eyes wide, breath coming out in frightened gasps.
“Gyubin—are you mad?” Jiwoo cried, his voice breaking. “Let go!”
The landlady hovered beside them, panicked, her hands fluttering uselessly as she tried to pull Gyubin away without hurting either child. "Gyubin what happened to you—”
Taehyung stepped out just then.
And his heart dropped straight into his stomach.
For a second, his mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing.
Gyubin.... his Gyubin..... quiet, gentle, the child who apologized even when he bumped into furniture had another boy pinned to a wall like this.
Taehyung’s grip on Gyuri tightened instinctively, one hand immediately supporting her head as if grounding himself through her warmth. His chest constricted painfully.
The landlady spotted him and exhaled in relief, almost desperate. “Taehyung—look at him.”
Taehyung didn’t answer right away. He walked closer, each step heavy, his pulse roaring in his ears.
“Binnie.”
His voice came out firm sharper than he intended but steady.
Gyubin turned at the sound.
The anger was gone.
In its place were trembling lips, eyes glassy and red, tears clinging desperately to his lashes like they’d spill any second. But his hands..... his hands were still gripping Jiwoo tightly, refusing to let go.
Jiwoo whimpered, his arms slack now, fear written all over his face.
“Leave him,” Taehyung said, his voice rising despite himself. “Now.”
“Appa—” Gyubin broke, his voice cracking open. “No—I won’t—he—”
His grip tightened again, like if he let go, something worse would happen.
From behind them, measured footsteps approached.
Taehyung glanced back.
Jungkook.
He walked toward them with calm, deliberate strides—but his eyes were sharp, assessing everything in seconds. He took in Jiwoo’s fear, the landlady’s panic, Gyubin’s shaking shoulders.
“Gyubin,” Jungkook said.
His voice was firm. Commanding in a way that cut straight through the chaos.
“Let him go.”
Gyubin flinched.
He turned slowly, eyes meeting Jungkook’s and whatever he saw there made his hands loosen instantly. His fingers slipped from Jiwoo’s shirt as if burned.
He stepped back.
Jiwoo slid down the wall, coughing, chest heaving as his grandmother rushed forward and wrapped him into her arms, murmuring frantic reassurances.
Gyubin didn’t look at him again.
He turned and ran straight into Taehyung.
“Appa…” he sobbed, the word coming out broken and small, like he was five again. “Appa—”
The word broke.
He clung to Taehyung’s shirt and sobbed like his chest was tearing open, shoulders shaking violently. Taehyung held him immediately, tightening his grip, one hand pressing protectively to the back of Gyubin’s head.
“It’s okay,” Taehyung whispered, voice breaking despite himself. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
His own heart was splintering.
Jungkook stepped closer, eyes never leaving Gyubin. He reached out quietly, and Taehyung handed Gyuri over without thinking. Jungkook held her securely and then Taehyung lowered himswlf to Gyubin's level.
“Tell me,” Taehyung said calmly. “What happened?”
Gyubin sobbed harder, fists twisting in Taehyung’s shirt.
Taehyung looked up at Jungkook, eyes glossy, terrified and grateful all at once.
Something had gone wrong.
And whatever it was.... it had hurt his child deeply.
Gyubin’s small fists clenched tighter in Taehyung’s shirt as his sobs finally found words.
“Appa…” he hiccupped. “He—he said he wouldn’t marry me.”
His voice cracked completely. “He said he’ll marry a girl.”
Taehyung felt his chest tighten.
“Why would he say that?” Gyubin went on, breath shaky, words tumbling out messily. “We’re best friends, right? I thought… I thought best friends stay together forever. I-I–”
His tears soaked into the fabric now.
“I made drawings for him,” he whispered. “I taught him the Rubik’s cube. I waited for him after school. We colored together. I shared my snacks with him.” His lip trembled. “I even saved the blue crayon for him because he likes blue.”
Gyubin sniffed hard. “And then today he just said it like I was stupid.”
Behind them, Jiwoo stayed silent, gripping his grandmother’s hand, clearly scared and confused, too young to understand the weight of the words he’d thrown.
Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he listened, eyes briefly flicking toward Jiwoo before settling back on Gyubin... his expression controlled, but sharp with something dark and protective.
Gyubin pulled back just enough to look up at Taehyung, eyes red and swollen.
“He’s bad, Appa. I won’t talk to him again. Ever.”
Taehyung exhaled slowly, steadying himself. This wasn’t anger. This was a child learning, for the first time, that affection doesn’t always come back the way you give it.
He cupped Gyubin’s head gently, grounding him.
He waited for the sobs to dull a little before speaking—because scolding could wait, explanations could wait, but this ache couldn’t.
“Binnie,” he said softly, voice low enough that it felt like a secret meant only for him, “ breathe with appa first.”
Gyubin’s fingers twisted into Taehyung’s shirt, his shoulders shaking.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Taehyung continued gently. “Do you hear me? Nothing at all.”
“But—” Gyubin hiccupped, voice small, broken. “He said it like… like it was bad. Like I was wrong for thinking that.”
Taehyung closed his eyes for a second, choosing his words carefully.
“People say many things when they don’t understand,” he said. “Jiwoo is ten, Binnie. At that age, children repeat what they hear. What adults tell them is ‘normal’. It doesn’t mean he didn’t care about you. It doesn’t erase the drawings, or the puzzles, or the time you spent together.”
Gyubin sniffed. “Then why did it hurt so much?”
“Because you cared,” Taehyung answered without hesitation. “And caring always makes us vulnerable. That’s not weakness—it’s courage.”
Gyubin went quiet at that, his cries turning into uneven breaths.
Taehyung tilted his head slightly so Gyubin could hear his heartbeat. “Listen. This sound? It’s steady because appa learned something a long time ago. People can love us deeply and still disappoint us. Both things can exist together.”
Gyubin’s grip loosened a little.
“You’re allowed to feel sad,” Taehyung went on. “You’re allowed to feel angry. But you are not allowed to believe that there is something wrong with you for loving someone honestly.”
From the side, Jungkook watched, silently. He didn’t interrupt. He knew this was Taehyung’s moment.
Taehyung lifted Gyubin’s chin gently, making him look up. “You don’t need anyone’s promise to marry you to prove your worth. Not today. Not ever.”
Gyubin’s eyes were red, glossy. “So… I’m not stupid?”
A small smile curved Taehyung’s lips—sad, proud, fierce all at once.
“No, my love,” he said. “You’re brave. And brave people get hurt sometimes. But they also grow.”
Gyubin leaned back into his chest, exhausted, calmer.
“And one day,” Taehyung added softly, “you’ll meet people who won’t laugh at your feelings or dismiss them. They’ll treat them gently. Like something precious.”
Gyubin nodded faintly.
Jungkook stepped closer then, his presence quiet but solid, a hand resting briefly on Gyubin’s shoulder... protective, wordless.
“We’ll handle this together,” Taehyung said, more to himself than anyone else. “All of it.”
And for the first time since the shouting began, the night felt still again.
Jungkook didn’t say anything.
Because if it were him.... if someone had looked him in the eye and rejected him like that, he wouldn’t have swallowed it. He would’ve fought it. Questioned it. Forced the truth out of the other person if he had to.
But Gyubin wasn’t him.
Gyubin was a child, standing at the edge of his first heartbreak, and some lessons weren’t meant to be learned through pressure or fear. Some things had to be felt, even when they hurt. Especially when they hurt.
And this.... this restraint was one of the few principles Jungkook lived by.
Not everyone could use force.
Not everyone should.